


coppertop

by Artikka



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Mustafar, Order 66, Padmé Amidala Lives, That's Not How The Force Works, eventually, is more accurate I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artikka/pseuds/Artikka
Summary: When he wakes, he’s still in the Chancellor’s office. He slowly picks himself up off the ground. The world around him feels a bit different. Slightly off, like Coruscant has been tilted on its axis by a few degrees.“What. . .” he manages to stutter out, swaying on his feet. The room felt so strange. “What did you do?”“The strands of destiny are fickle things, Anakin. They require a great deal of finesse and power to work with, power that the light side cannot provide.” the Chancellor says calmly, helping Anakin to a chair. “No need to worry,” he says at Anakin’s alarmed expression. “I fixed them.”* * * * *The war is over, Count Dooku and Grievous both dead. The Chancellor has agreed to rescind some of his emergency powers, and Anakin is finally getting the family he's always wanted. So why does something feel. . . off?
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 135
Kudos: 237





	1. "You're the Sith Lord."

“You–you’re the _Sith._ ”

There’s nothing, _nothing_ in the galaxy that could stop the cold feeling of betrayal seeping into his veins, the disgust roiling in his stomach, the fear forming a knot at the base of his skull. Palpatine—the Chancellor of the _Republic_ —is a _Sith Lord_. The words can’t possibly compute.

“My men—” he says, breaths coming shallower then he’d like, “Ahsoka—the war—that was _you_ —”

The walls are closing in on him, the room is spinning, his left arm is shaking with a vengeance—

He _can’t breathe._

“Anakin,” says the concerned voice of the Chancellor somewhere far away. “Are you alright?”

Why is he asking—he’s a _Sith Lord,_ he’s asking if Anakin’s alright—does this mean the Chancellor’s been playing the war all along from both sides? If he was Dooku’s Master. . . he had Anakin _kill_ Dooku. . . had he faked all the kidnappings? Had all the battles been orchestrated? All the men in the 501st died for nothing? And what of Ahsoka, and all the civilians? For nothing? For _nothing_ —his breathing is nothing but shallow gasps at this point. He’d trusted the Chancellor, _trusted_ him since he was a kid, and now—dark spots are appearing at the edge of his vision. 

“Anakin.”

A wave of dizziness overtakes him.

“ _Anakin_.”

That’s the Chancellor’s voice, he thinks, the Chancellor who’s revealed himself as a _Sith Lord_ —

“Breathe with me, Anakin.” 

“W-what?” he says, the word coming out in fits and stutters.

“My dear boy, I do believe you’re having a panic attack. Try and match your breathing with mine, it should help.”

Chancellor Palpatine’s face slowly comes into focus in front of him. The face is kind and concerned, which clashes incessantly with the information just revealed to him. He’s making some sort of exaggerated motions with his hands and mouth— _oh_ , he’s demonstrating breathing. 

_Okay,_ Anakin thinks, _okay, just try to breathe._ His breaths come as uneven gulps at first, but slowly the room rematerialises and his vision clears.

He sags into a chair to the side, still unable to stop his shaking. He should be terrified for his life, he realizes. He’s sitting in a room next to a _Sith._ A Sith who knows his every weakness, who’s known him since he was nine.

And he wears the kind, benign face of the Chancellor.

“I’m afraid,” the Chancellor says, “that there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“You’re a _Sith._ You’re the _Sith Lord_.” The words still seem disjointed, as if they shouldn’t belong in the same sentence. The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, a Sith Lord? Anakin’s friend and mentor since childhood, a Sith Lord?

“Anakin, have I not always been your friend? Have you not always trusted me? I’m only asking you to not come to any hasty conclusions.”

“Explain,” Anakin says, surprised at how steady his voice sounds. He’d expected it to shake just like his hands are—oh, is his mechanical hand shaking too? That’s new.

“Studying the dark side of the force, Anakin, does not make one Sith, nor does it make one a shadowy Sith Lord the Jedi seem to have convinced themselves is orchestrating this war. It simply means one is more open-minded, less bound by rigid rules and restrictions.” his voice gains a frigid, disappointed air. “If I had known you would react like this, as dogmatic as most other Jedi, I would have reconsidered extending my offer to help you.”

Anakin relaxes marginally. He’s not _the_ Sith, the Chancellor hasn’t betrayed him, been using him, but it’s still. . . strange.

The Chancellor sighs. “I thought you were different.”

A hot flush of shame creeps in on the back of Anakin’s neck. Had he really sounded as narrow-minded as _those_ Jedi? The ones that had been willing to throw Ahsoka to the dogs at the first hint of circumstantial evidence?

“It’s not your fault, I suppose. You’re only repeating what you’ve been taught.” 

“I—the dark side, it’s—”

The Chancellor cuts him off with another frustrated sigh. “Between the both of us, Anakin, who has knowledge of the dark side? The dark side of the force is not inherently evil. It is only evil when used for evil. Much like the light.”

_What?_ That goes against everything Anakin’s ever been taught, everything the Jedi know, everything this war has taught him. Every experience he’s ever had with darksiders has been, well, hostile. Dooku, Ventress, Savage, Maul . . . but Dooku had been a Jedi, once. And Ventress turned out somewhat alright in the end. Could it really be that simple?

That’s. . . a rather galaxy-shattering revelation, actually. 

The Chancellor gives him a look of pride. “Now you understand. I told you of this, Anakin, because I believe I can help you and your wife. The dark side, as I’ve mentioned, is a path to many abilities. Even, perhaps, manipulating the strands of destiny. Taking control of your own fate.”

That doesn’t sound like what Anakin’s been taught, but something inside him rings true at the words. To take control of his own fate. . . yes. _Yes._

“Let me _help_ you, Anakin.” The Chancellor says sincerely.

There’s a long moment. Anakin doesn’t quite know what to say. He had been so _sure_ the Chancellor was the Sith—it did make some sense, didn’t it, that he had been behind the war all along? Wouldn’t it have been an easy answer, to have only one person they could blame for the whole war? But war is messier than that, and this is the _Chancellor_. He’s always been a good man, a kind man. And what he’s said. . . well, it makes some level of sense.

Finally, slowly, he nods.

The Chancellor lets out a breath. “Thank you.”

He stands up from his own seat and motions for Anakin to do the same. “You’ll need to stand for this, I’m afraid.”

Anakin gets up. The Chancellor walks closer to him, a strange glint in his eyes, and Anakin can’t help but stiffen, a little. He hopes that Palpatine didn’t notice—now he’s extending a hand and Anakin can’t hold back a flinch. The hand reaches for his forehead and—

The room is spinning, spinning, spinning, dark spots are clustering in his vision, he’s being crushed from all sides but by what he’s not sure—his head is splitting in violent agony, the base of his skull feels like it’s going to explode, there’s fire crawling up his legs and arms and burning, burning, _burning_ —

His last conscious thought is that he doesn’t remember falling to his knees on the floor.

The world goes dark.

* * * * *

When he wakes, he’s still in the Chancellor’s office. He slowly picks himself up off the ground. The world around him feels a bit different. Slightly off, like Coruscant has been tilted on its axis by a few degrees. 

“What. . .” he manages to stutter out, swaying on his feet. The room felt so _strange._ “What did you do?”

“The strands of destiny are fickle things, Anakin. They require a great deal of finesse and power to work with, power that the light side cannot provide.” the Chancellor says calmly, helping Anakin to a chair. “No need to worry,” he says at Anakin’s alarmed expression. “I fixed them.”

“I don’t understand.” Anakin says. His head’s still pounding. Why is it pounding?

“You are safe now, Anakin.” the Chancellor says, looking somewhat tired but giving Anakin a genuine smile all the same. “You and your wife are both safe.” His words are comforting; whatever the Chancellor did to help Padme and him has made him feel rather disoriented and hazy.

The Chancellor speaks again, putting a reassuring hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about anymore.”


	2. “Are you going to kill me?”

_ The Chancellor speaks again, putting a reassuring hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about anymore.” _

* * * * *

Anakin leaves the office in a haze. He’s still slightly dizzy and his thoughts come slow and sluggish, but there’s an underlying sense of cautious relief. The Chancellor had told him Padme was safe. He wouldn’t lose yet another person he loved.

He probably looks like a dazed disaster. On any other day, he would have expected to draw more than his fair share of curious eyes, but no one seems to particularly care about the disheveled Jedi Knight hobbling out of the Senate offices at the moment. Not a single person glances his way.

He finds a quiet corner and slides to the floor, trying and failing to blink the spots out of his eyes. The world goes out of focus for a second before he regains his bearings, and he takes a few breaths before trying to sort through his thoughts.

_ “You are safe,”  _ The Chancellor had said.  _ “You and your wife are both safe.” _

He can’t recall ever telling the Chancellor that he and Padme had been married, but then again, he’d never exactly been subtle either. He’s not entirely sure when and how the Chancellor figured it out, but does it really matter? He doesn’t have to worry about Padme anymore. Doesn’t have to choose between foregoing precious rest at night or watching her inevitable death play out before his eyes in excruciating detail. Doesn’t have to hear her screams, her dying breaths echoing in his ears over and over and over again. Doesn’t have to drive himself mad trying to find out  _ why, how, when, how does he stop this _ —

He’s free of it.  _ They’re  _ free of it. Anakin huffs a disbelieving laugh, running a shaky hand through his hair. It’s as if an enormous weight has been lifted off his chest. 

But then there’s that other thing, the thing that keeps nagging insistently at his mind.

The Chancellor used the  _ force _ . The Chancellor used the  _ dark side of the force _ .

He remembers the phantom pain from the office and shivers.

He has no  _ idea _ what to think. The Chancellor is  _ force sensitive _ ? Since when? For the past decade and a half, Anakin had been under the impression that Chancellor Palpatine was about as force null as one could get. He’d excused the Chancellor’s admittedly strange opinions of Jedi practices,  _ interesting _ morals regarding use of the force, and contradictory expectations of the Order with the fact that he couldn’t possibly understand. But the Chancellor  _ is _ force sensitive. And, based on the incident that had just taken place, is extremely familiar with the force and its uses. 

Do the Jedi know?

The thought brings his wonderings to a halt. 

The Jedi  _ should _ know—all Republic children’s midichlorian counts are taken at birth and stay in the records, even if the child doesn’t join the order—but Anakin of all people knows that there are ways for Force-sensitives to slip through the cracks. And the Council’s already suspicious of the Chancellor from his politics alone. Hell, he’s been asked to  _ spy  _ on the Chancellor. The  _ Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.  _ Adding force sensitivity to the mix? 

He doesn’t even want to think about how the Council will react to that. 

But it’s more than simply being force sensitive. Chancellor Palpatine used— _ regularly _ uses—the dark side of the force. The specter doggedly haunting every Jedi’s footsteps to their dying breaths. He used it on  _ Anakin. _

_ “Not inherently evil,”  _ The Chancellor had said,  _ “Simply less bound by rigid rules and restrictions.” _

Only evil when used for evil?

It sounds simple, soothing, when put in those words, but also somewhat off. Anakin’s only ever seen the dark side used for evil, after all. Isn’t that what it draws on? Anger, hate, fear, violence? Certainly nothing anyone would want to be reliant on.

Besides,  _ he’s _ touched the dark side, hasn’t he? And maybe it made him feel powerful, in the moment, and maybe that power did help him save people from time to time, but afterwards he always just felt sick. 

He remembers rushing blood, nauseous rage, shaking fingers and the scuttling of creeping force tendrils wrapping around his skin. Flashes of Tusken Raiders blending with the flashes of interrogations, people choking, scrabbling fingers at their throats trying to stave off an invisible attack, Ventress, Dooku, his mother’s head snapping back and his veins flooding with ice, anger, horror, fear, fear,  _ fear _ —

He’s shaking again. There’s bile rising in the back of his throat. Hopefully now with the war ending, he’ll never have to touch that roiling, sickening, repugnant power ever again. 

But what the Chancellor did wasn’t like that. . . was it? He hadn’t drawn on hate or rage. He’d been calm, appraising. Clinical, almost.

Maybe there really was more to the dark side than Anakin had thought.

He stands unsteadily, one hand against the wall. There’s still not a single person who’s looked his way, which is admittedly rather strange, but the Senate’s in session at the moment so the halls aren’t that crowded anyway.

Where does he go from here?

He should—well, he’s probably  _ supposed  _ to—report back to the Council. Tell them of the new development, of the Chancellor’s apparent force sensitivity and his knowledge of the dark side. But then they’ll ask him how he knows. And how could he possibly explain without dragging Padme into this mess? Confessing to the dreams, the pregnancy, the marriage?

It’s going to come out eventually, he knows. And he’s more than willing to leave the Order when it does, though he’ll miss Obi-wan so much it’ll feel like a gaping wound in his side. But he wants to do it on his own terms, with a war that’s ended and Padme preferably alive and well. And without casting suspicion onto the Chancellor, who’s just given up an incriminating secret just to help Anakin and the wife that he shouldn’t have in the first place. 

_ “No one could ever call you ungrateful, Anakin.”  _ The Chancellor had said to him once.

He is. Grateful, that is. The word rubs him the wrong way, leaving a rubbery feel in his throat and reminding him uncomfortably of Watto’s tirades at times  _ (he didn’t beat them like Gardulla, he and his mother ought to show more gratitude _ — _ ),  _ but he shoves that aside. He couldn’t possibly repay the Chancellor with a suspicious Council breathing down his neck after he had just risked all of that to help Anakin. 

He isn’t ungrateful. 

The sky’s darkening. It’s getting late. He wants, more than anything, to sneak off to Padme’s, reassure himself that she’s alright, hold her in his arms—but he really should check in at the Temple first. See if there’s any news from Obi-wan about Grievous, answer any questions the Council might have. Check, for the thousandth time this day, if there’s been any communication from Ahsoka.

The ride back is quiet.

When he disembarks, no one is around to greet him. He’s surprised, for a second; he had been sure Master Windu and the other Councilors were desperate to know how the Chancellor would react to the news of Utapau. But as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Master Windu shows up at the edge of the landing pad, expression stern as always.

“Skywalker,” he says, tilting his head to acknowledge Anakin, “how did the report go?”

Windu’s stare has Anakin running a hand over his robes in a futile effort to make himself seem more presentable and as if he hadn’t collapsed and had at least two breakdowns in the last hour. “Fine.” he says, trying to sound neutral, “The Chancellor seemed happy with the report of engagement. He’s—” what to say,  _ what to say, _ “—optimistic about Obi-wan’s—Master Obi-wan’s—chances.”

“I see.” Master Windu gives Anakin another appraising look before deciding to deem the answer satisfactory. “Any word about the emergency powers?”

The emergency powers?

_ The emergency powers.  _ In the whirlwind that this day had been (burning, burning,  _ burning _ ), Anakin had completely forgotten about the whole reason the Council was playing this almost comical back-and-forth with the Chancellor to begin with. “No,” he says honestly, “nothing.”

Master Windu sighs, gaze distant. “I suppose we’ll have to discuss our course of action in the next Council meeting. But perhaps the defeat of Grievous will finally bring this situation to an end.”

“. . . I hope so.” Anakin offers, trying not to fidget too obviously. “Has there been any news from Obi-wan? Or from Ahsoka?”

“No news from Obi-wan yet.” Windu says, “but the Siege is going well, supposedly.”

Master Windu looks at him again, then nods. “You’re dismissed, Skywalker.”

Anakin gives a hasty bow and a muttered “Yes, Master,” before rushing off to his quarters. He lets himself in and practically falls onto the couch. 

Okay, so he’s a bit of a mess right now. But he’ll being seeing Padme soon, and if the Chancellor was right, the dreams will be gone. If all goes well, Obi-wan will be back soon too, alongside Ahsoka. Maul and Grievous will be defeated. This hellish war might finally,  _ finally _ be over. 

His skin prickles rather uncomfortably. 

Well. One can hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell on tumblr! I'm @ilonga :D


	3. “Your anger gives you focus.”

_Well. One can hope._

* * * * *

Padme Amidala’s apartment is a sight for sore eyes. 

The setting sun gives it an almost otherworldly halo, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing across the shining walls that seems more at home on Naboo then it could ever seem on Coruscant. He’s never seen it like this before, and he has a newfound appreciation for the view as he hobbles rather ungracefully off the speeder and on to the landing pad. Maybe it’s because he’s only been back for a few days, and before that it was month after neverending month in the Outer Rim, chasing down droids and scattered bases until he can barely function anymore. 

Or maybe he’s just getting sappy again.

His exit from the Temple had been slower and more hesitant than he had planned; he kept hoping, rather irrationally, that if he waited just a few minutes longer there might be news from Obi-wan, or maybe more news from Ahsoka. But the hours trudged by and eventually Anakin had to acknowledge the fact that there would probably be none until tomorrow and unless he wanted to sleep alone in the Temple that night, he should probably head out. 

There were rarely Jedi milling about the Temple halls at night, and his exits, infrequent enough as they were with him always on the warfront these days, were inconspicuous for the most part. He knows this. But something about the halls felt quieter then normal and he’s not really sure what. Had that many Jedi really been shipped out when he was away?

His boot catches on the edge of the speeder. Anakin stumbles.

A Huttese curse slips out of his mouth before he can stop it and he claps a hand over his mouth, slowly looking up and meeting the eyes of one Padme Amidala through the window. 

She’s laughing. 

He can’t help but bite down a grin himself as he frees his leg and the edges of his robes from the very determined speeder sidebars. Any other day he might have been embarrassed, but Padme’s lips are still twitching in an infectious smile, and her eyes are alight with mirth and joy, and he finds that thinking of anything other than how happy he is to see her at that very moment is close to impossible.

“Hey, Padme,” he says, reaching the now-open door and sweeping her into an embrace. 

“Took you long enough,” she teases, and pulls him into a kiss.

It’s long, and sweet, and filled with warmth, and all his worries very nearly melt away entirely. He wants to stay wrapped in her arms forever, dead to the world and thinking of nothing but the two of them—soon to be _three_ of them. Her presence is so soothing he can almost forget about the war, his worries, the _Chancellor_. Almost. 

He breaks apart from Padme slowly, but she notices him stiffening anyways. Her eyes flick over his rather sorry state and her brow furrows. “Are you alright?”

He tries for a laugh, but it doesn’t fool either of them. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’ve had—” he takes a shaky breath, “—a strange day.”

Padme hums and beckons him in, sparing only a fleeting glance at the cityscape behind them. “Talk to me,” she says, in a reverse of their usual arrangement; usually Padme will get whatever complaints she has about the Senate out of the way first. Though they’ve been avoiding that lately, what with all their clashing over the Chancellor.

“The report came in from Utapau this morning,” Anakin says, tugging the door shut behind him, “Obi-wan and his men found General Grievous.”

“That’s wonderful news.” Padme begins pulling the pins out of her hair with a pointed glance at the chronometer; Anakin really had taken his time getting there, and Padme would most definitely have early meetings tomorrow morning. He feels a clawing guilt at the fact, but a small part of him rejoices at the fact that she waited up just to greet him. “And?” she asks. “What else?” 

He sighs and looks away. “I had a meeting with the Chancellor.”

A part of him waits for the simmering tension that always springs up between them at the mention of Chancellor Palpatine. To his surprise, there’s none. She nods, twisting her hair into a simple style, and accepts it in stride. “Did something happen?”

“I—”

He remembers the meeting of the Delegation of 2000 he’d found himself caught in the middle of, and feels a slight sting at the memory. Padme hadn’t told him anything about it, and while, of course, she didn’t _have_ to, it had still caught him rather off guard. Either way, she definitely doesn’t need any more reasons to be more suspicious of the Chancellor than she already is. 

But if he doesn’t talk about it with _someone_ , he’ll explode. And the Chancellor helped them, both of them. She deserves to know.

“The Chancellor—” might as well be blunt— “is force sensitive.”

She turns to face him, and there’s more surprise on her face than there is the suspicion that he’d expected to see. “What?”

He swallows, pushing down the myriad of conflicting emotions that the reminder of the day’s events brings. “He revealed it to me this afternoon. Because—because he wanted to help us.”

Her reaction continues to be milder than he expected, and he’s both grateful and anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Help us?” she asks, moving to join him where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, confused but still infuriatingly calm. “Help us how?”

“He knows we’re married.” And, before she can react, he rushes on, “I didn’t tell him or anything! I don’t know how he found out—well, I guess I was always open with him, and he’s known me for over a decade—but I didn’t mean to, I swear—”

“Anakin.” She cuts him off, grasping his metallic hand in hers and gesturing for him to continue.

“Right. I—he used the force. He did something. To save you.”

“From your dreams?” she asks, still looking at him with the same concern and sympathy. It bothers him more than it should.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Padme says, pressing soothing circles into his metallic palm. He hadn’t even noticed her take the glove off; it’s lying off to the side on the dresser. “that’s a good thing. Right?”

He gapes at her. 

Where’s the suspicion? The caution? The denial of the dreams being any danger? It’s not what he’s come to expect. 

He’s reading in to this too much; she’s probably just trying to help. But still, “He used the _dark_ side, Padme.”

Her eyebrows raise at that, and she drops his hand to look him in the eyes, “Are you sure?” Her voice is deadly serious.

“He told me himself.”

“That’s—” she blinks rapidly, “that’s—he used the dark side to _save_ me?” She’s looking past him now, out the window, deep in thought. “I thought you couldn’t use the dark side to save anyone. Isn’t it . . . destructive? Evil?”

“That’s what I thought, too.” He takes a breath. “It didn’t seem. . . evil. What he did. Not like how Dooku and Ventress have used the dark side.”

“Do the Jedi know?” she asks quietly.

“No. I don’t think so. I didn’t tell them.”

“Why not?”

Anakin scoffs. “They have me _spying_ on him, Padme. They’re already suspicious enough as is. And he revealed it to _help_ us. I couldn’t—I couldn’t repay him like that.”

_“Maybe you should wait until you spend a night without the dreams to claim that he helped you.”_ is what he expects Padme to say. He expects her critical, discerning side, suspicious of this new information and trying to fit it into the puzzle pieces of what she knows about the Chancellor. Maybe a comment about his emergency powers, his secrecy, his push for more authority throughout the war. Instead, there’s a contemplative silence. Padme avoids his eyes, gazing off into the distance. Finally, she asks, “Has he been trained?”

“He mentioned a mentor.”

“A mentor in the dark side?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Well,” she says, brows still furrowed, cupping his face with her hand and leaning her head against his shoulder, “there’s nothing to do but wait and see, is there? Maybe we can be optimistic, for once.”

She’s right. There’s not really much else to do. And with Grievous close to capture and Ahsoka and the 332nd chasing after Maul, the loose ends of the war seem to be wrapping up. Maybe they really _can_ be optimistic.

“You should sleep, Anakin.” she says, pulling the covers over the two of them and tucking her head into his chest, “Things will look better in the morning.”

* * * * *

Anakin wakes up feeling well-rested for what must have been the first time in days, maybe _weeks_. He gets up, slow and easy, without the undercurrent of manic anxiety that’s been pulsing through him so often. The space beside him is empty, and he can hear Padme bustling about in the other room, no doubt preparing her speeches and getup for the day. Then he realizes.

Not a single dream.

It really worked.

_It really worked._

He’s in the other room sweeping Padme into his arms before he even registers it. She’s safe, she’s _safe._ He’s spinning her around now, a laugh that’s part joyful, part relieved, part hysterical escaping him. 

“Anakin!” she shrieks with a giggle so unrefined it’s hard to believe it came out of Padme Amidala’s mouth at all, “Anakin, put me down!”

He relents, a flush working its way to his cheeks. Luckily, he hasn’t ruined her Senator getup. But still, “Not a single dream.” he says, voice suddenly choked and strained with unshed tears of relief, “Not one.”

They’ll be okay. Padme will be okay. Their _child_ will be okay.

“I told you,” she says, grinning wildly, “I knew you’d be able to save me.”

Something in those words pierces through the hazes of happiness. “Save you?” he says, lips twitching. “Please. You’re Padme Amidala. You don’t need anyone to save you.”

She blinks, a strange glint of something in her eyes, before her face morphs back into a teasing smile. “Sure,” she says, “but you’ll always be my hero.”

. . . Right. 

“Sweet of you to say,” he says, deciding not to push it, “Hopefully our daughter will think so too.”

“Daughter?” Padme says with mock offence. “I’ll have you know that our _son_ will be in awe of Jedi Knight Skywalker’s feats of heroism.”

“You know, I’m the Jedi here, Padme. I’m telling you, it’s a girl.”

“You know, I’m the mother here, Anakin. And motherly intuition trumps the force, every time.”

“Oh, really?” he says with a laugh. Then he sneaks a glance at the chronometer. “Padme. . . don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

She turns around and curses under her breath. “Ah, sh—I’ve got to go, Anakin.” She pulls him into a kiss. “Love you, see you later—bye!”

And she’s out the door, datapad and all.

“Love you,” he says to the silent wall. He can still see Padme’s shadow rounding the corner.

The wall doesn’t say anything back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still hanging out on tumblr @ilonga, if anyone wants to yell :)


	4. “Our worst fears have been realized.”

_The wall doesn’t say anything back_.

* * * * *

With Padme off in various Senate sessions for the day, he really doesn’t have much of an excuse to linger at the apartment. He traces a hand over the dresser, the mirror, the quaint kitchen table where they’ve only really shared one or two meals total, and lets himself pretend, for a few more minutes, that everything is right with the galaxy. That nothing can penetrate their little safe haven. 

It’s a bit of a silly notion—her apartment has never really been the perfect bubble he wishes it could be—but he’s feeling sentimental. With one last look back, he grabs his cloak and heads out.

His comlink beeps as he’s heading back to the Temple, and Anakin accelerates to a speed that would have Obi-wan hanging on to the sides of the speeder like a tooka cat. It’s only been a day, but campaigns have been wrapped up in less. Is it really too soon to hope?

He disembarks with thankfully less tripping on his feet than last night, and jogs through the corridors, still quiet and calm in the early morning hours. The comlink beeps insistently, again. 

He switches it on.

“Finally,” comes Obi-wan’s fondly exasperated voice, and he’s never been happier to hear it then now.

“Obi-wan.” He stops at the door to his quarters, debating going in. “Where are you? What’s happening? Has there been any news, is Grievous—”

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-wan says, and how many times has he said that word, in that same chastising, amused tone of voice, throughout the years? It’s so familiar it’s almost overpowering, and Anakin realizes, suddenly, that despite how many times Obi-wan has faced Grievous and came out of it unscathed if not victorious, despite Obi-wan being one of the best Generals, best Jedi, in this entire force-damned galaxy, Anakin had been worried. Worried that this would be it, because the force had twisted in a way that was ever so strange when they had said their goodbyes, and if these years have taught him anything, it’s that this war has had a nasty habit of taking things from them when they least expect it.

“Sorry, Master,” he says cheekily, “now talk.”

The resulting sigh crackles against the comm and Anakin feels his lips twitch into some semblance of a smile. “We just arrived back on Coruscant less than an hour ago. Grievous has been. . . defeated.”

“That—that’s wonderful.” Grievous, defeated, and with Dooku dead—it almost seems too good to be true. “He’s captured? Or is he—”

“Dead.” Obi-wan says shortly. “General Grievous is dead.”

“And the Council’s been informed?”

“I sent in the message as soon as we arrived.” 

Something about Obi-wan’s voice seems slightly. . . off. A little tight. Anakin narrows his eyes at the comm. “And you, Master? Are you alright?” There’s a slight crash from Obi-wan’s side of the comm, a crash that sounds distinctively familiar. But. . . no, he has to be alright. He’s _Obi-wan Kenobi_ ; Grievous could never get the better of him. “Where are you?”

“Ah. You caught me.”

A sinking feeling of dread is creeping in on him.

“You’re in the medbay, aren’t you?”

Obi-wan sighs, again. “If you hurry, Master Che might give you a moment to say hello before the surgery.”

The surgery? “Obi-wan, what—”

There’s a _click_ as Obi-wan hangs up.

“Seriously?” Anakin mutters, a passing padawan studiously ignoring him. “Seriously?”

He rushes in the direction of the Healing Halls as fast as he can, throwing all sense of decorum out the window. If anyone stops and asks, he can just say it’s an emergency. Or maybe just “It’s Master Kenobi,” will be enough of an explanation. He’s never made a secret of his. . . well, rather un-Jedi like attachment to Obi-wan, and hell, after the Hardeen mess, the whole Temple probably knows about it. Besides, what with the war going on, the Jedi have been turning more and more of a blind eye to that sort of thing.

The war. . . 

The war might be over.

And _Obi-wan_ is hurt.

He reaches the doors and pushes them open, slowing to a more, well, sane-looking pace. Vokara Che, exiting the room, looks up and scoffs. Whether good-natured or derisive, he can’t tell.

“Knight Skywalker.” she says, “Waiting for news about Master Kenobi?”

She doesn’t say _as usual_ , but he can hear the words all the same. That’s—that’s been a bit of a wartime routine, hasn’t it? Him pacing like a nexu outside the medbay rooms every time Obi-wan has been injured, bugging the healers for news. Standing vigil outside the doors until he’s let in, Obi-wan is let out, or he falls asleep then and there against the wall. He wonders if Obi-wan has done the same when it’s been Anakin in there.

“What happened?” he asks, trying and failing not to sound desperate, “Is he alright?”

Her eyes widen then soften imperceptibly. “You haven’t heard.”

She beckons him forward and stops him in front of the door to Obi-wan’s room. “Skywalker. . . he _will_ recover. You did the same. I ask you to remember that.”

She opens the door.

Anakin steps forward. His eyes land on Obi-wan’s figure on the bed and flit over, looking for the injuries that had given Master Che such pause. He looks alright, it seems, but. . . 

His eyes flick back to the spot on Obi-wan’s left side.

His arm.

Obi-wan’s arm.

It’s _gone_.

“Hello, Anakin,” Obi-wan says, with his left arm lopped off just below his elbow, clearly the work of a lightsaber. Anakin clenches his own metallic fist subconsciously. “It’s. . . good to see you.”

“Obi-wan,” he breathes, horrified, “what. . .”

“Grievous is dead, I can assure you,” Obi-wan continues matter-of-factly, “but, looking back, the Council ought to have sent more backup.”

“We’re ready for the surgery now, Master Kenobi,” says Vokara, stepping forward. She turns to him with a significant glance; _time is up_. 

“I’ll. . .” Getting words out is suddenly a struggle; his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. “I’ll be there. I’ll see you. After.”

“Well,” Obi-wan says drily, “I suppose we’re going to match, then.”

Anakin can’t find it in himself to laugh. “I—yeah. Suppose we will.”

He staggers out of the room at Master Che’s second warning look, still numb with shock. Obi-wan. . . his _arm_. . . 

He—he doesn’t know what to think. A small part of him that speaks in the Chancellor’s voice rears up— _this is why the Council should have sent both of you, look what happened to him, but they were too busy playing their political games_ —and he squashes it down. It could have been worse. So much worse. At least Obi-wan’s _alive_ . And, well, a prosthetic is no jaunt through Naboo. There’ll be so many frustrations, obstacles, struggles—force only knows what a pain electrocution is going to be for Obi-wan _now_ —but Anakin’s there, and he’s already gone through it all before. He’ll help.

Obi-wan might not have exactly made it back in one piece, but he did make it back. And Anakin. . . Anakin is grateful for that.

_No one could ever call you ungrateful, Anakin._

* * * * *

He sleeps in the Temple that night.

He comms Padme to let her know, and she accepts it with an resigned, if understanding, air. This is the way things have always been between them, after all. He manages to sneak away for maybe a night, to be with her, before other responsibilities call him away and he’s either shipping out across the galaxy or rushing to the medbay to check on Obi-wan or his troopers. Or, before the trial, training Ahsoka. But that. . . he won’t think about it. It’s been a year, but it still hurts as freshly as it had the day she had left.

A Council meeting had taken place, earlier, but little had been discussed. The death of Grievous changed much, but it had only been a day. The news had only just reached the Senate. There had been some talk about the Chancellor and the emergency powers, some talk of various battles and campaigns wrapping up, and a myriad of sympathetic glances thrown his way when Obi-wan was brought up. But with that and with no new decisions made, the Council meeting wrapped up and Anakin found himself back in his quarters once more.

He wakes to two urgent messages on his comm: one, that Obi-wan has been released from the Halls of Healing and is currently acclimating to the new prosthetic, and two, that an urgent Council meeting has been called by Advisor Tano in an hour.

_Ahsoka_.

The hour can’t pass fast enough. 

When he enters—more like bursts into—the Council Chambers, it’s five minutes early and would have been earlier if Anakin hadn’t spent so much time pacing anxiously in the halls. He gets a few glances from Master Windu and Master Yoda and—

“Obi-wan,” he says, surprise evident. Obi-wan looks up at him and smiles, giving him a clumsy wave with the new prosthetic, “you’re looking. . . well.”

Obi-wan is. . . “well” might be a bit generous. Anakin could have _sworn_ he had spent longer in the Halls when he had lost the arm, and he almost asks _“Why aren’t you still in the medbay?”_ before changing his mind and snapping his mouth shut. He knows Obi-wan’s reputation amongst the healers, and the physical therapy exercises can be done from his quarters just as easily. Obi-wan isn’t nicknamed “the Negotiator” for nothing.

“I’m glad someone here thinks so,” Obi-wan says with a pointed look at Master Windu. Mace raises an eyebrow but doesn’t retort, and turns his gaze to the holotable as it crackles on.

“Masters,” Ahsoka says, straight backed and arms laced behind her. Rex is standing to the side of the hologram, just barely in view. He meets Anakin’s eyes and gives him a slight smile. “I have good news. Mandalore has been contained, and Maul is no longer a threat.”

_“The war might be over soon.”_

He meets Ahsoka’s gaze and smiles at her, trying to project pride, love, and joy all at once. To his surprise, she smiles back unabashedly before turning to the rest of the Council.

“Tell us everything,” Master Windu says, leaning forward in his seat.

Ahsoka takes a deep breath. “With the help of Bo-Katan and her fellow Mandalorians, we were able to retake the city and hold it. The 332nd and I tracked down Maul in the meantime, and Maul and I engaged in a duel once we were able to pin him down.”

“And?” Shaak Ti speaks up, watching Ahsoka intently. “Where is Darth Maul now?”

Anakin exchanges a glance with Obi-wan. He has a feeling. . .

“Dead.” The corner of Ahsoka’s lip curls up slightly, and her eyes glimmer with satisfaction. 

“Darth Maul is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:)
> 
> tumblr's @ilonga! come say hi


	5. “What have I done?”

_“Darth Maul is dead.”_

*****

Silence follows Ahsoka’s proclamation, before—

“ _Dead_?” Anakin isn’t sure who said it first—it might have been him, Obi-wan, Master Windu, or maybe even Shaak Ti that beat them to the punch. 

And what a punch it was. Ahsoka, at seventeen years old, had managed to _kill_ Maul? He has utmost faith in his padaw—former padawan, of course, but this is. . . a lot. To do what Obi-wan had never been able to do, what Adi Gallia _died_ trying to do—he’s always been impressed by Ahsoka’s skill but this is another level _entirely_.

“To clarify, young Tano,” Shaak Ti says with a dignified air, “you engaged Maul in a duel, and were able to dispatch and subsequently kill him during said duel?”

“Well, Rex fired the shot,” Ahsoka says lightly, “but yes, I was able to overpower him and we managed to defeat him for good.”

“In all fairness,” she continues, “I got lucky. Maul was. . . distracted, and overconfident, and I managed to get the upper hand over him that way.” 

“Still, that is a most impressive feat, lil ‘Soka,” Plo Koon rumbles from his position by the window. “This Council commends you.”

Ahsoka’s face smooths back over into a mask of neutrality. “Thank you,” she says, “Masters.”

A series of glances are exchanged throughout the room. There are raised eyebrows, slight nods, and slight upticks of the mouth tossed from Councillor to Councillor. It occurs to Anakin, suddenly, that this is actually the first time Ahsoka has seen him on the Council. The last time they spoke, he had still been—well, technically, he still _was_ —a Knight, so this is probably the first Ahsoka’s hearing of it at all.

He wonders what she’s making of it, whether she suspects that the Chancellor had strong-armed his way into granting Anakin the seat or thinks that it had been fully deserved all along. _He’d_ been thrilled, getting the seat but. . . he doesn’t know. Now that he’s not so desperate to get into the Archives, he’s not sure how he feels about it anymore.

(He remembers his reaction to the denial of Mastery and suddenly has a very sane, very reasonable urge to wash his brain out with bleach. Or slap his past self. _Force_ , that’s so embarrassing to look back on. The fact that Obi-wan hadn’t cut all ties with him then and there is a miracle in and of itself.)

It’s just. . . now that Padme’s safe, he can admit he hadn’t really thought about a seat on the Council before the Chancellor had brought it up. It had always seemed something. . . distant. Far away. What did the Council do that he’d want to be a part of, anyway? Sure, in wartime there was say over battle and strategies, but war rooms and briefings have never been his strength. He’s always been at his best on the field, by his men. In the thick of the action. And now that the end of the war is in sight, well. He’s. . . not a hundred percent sure what a Jedi Council in peacetime would look like, but governing the Jedi Order isn’t something he’d ever had in mind when dreaming about the war’s end. And add in everything with Padme, and their soon-to-be child ( _a child!)_ , well.

He’d hardly consider himself a candidate for “model Jedi”. Not like Obi-wan. Not like the rest of them.

He frowns.

It’s . . . more like he wanted to prove himself to the Chancellor than anything. Prove that all that kindness, all that trust, all that generosity hadn’t been misplaced. That he actually _was_ this great Jedi that the Chancellor believed him to be.

He’s a good General, he knows. A good soldier, a good warrior, a good duellist, a good. . . teacher, he hopes. But the words “good Jedi” feel like a lie. How good a Jedi can he be, if he’s been lying to them for years now? If he’s been planning, semi-consciously, to leave once the war was over and no one needed a “Chosen One” any longer ever since the war started and he and Padme married? And all that aside, how can he be a good Jedi if everything has always come so _difficult_ for him? If he’s still angry, still grieving, never calm, always messing things up? He’s supposed to be some great, powerful, Chosen One, but all he can do well is fight. Destroy things. 

He doesn’t. . . he doesn’t know. Maybe that’s why he’s so desperately defensive. Because he’s a fraud, and sooner or later either he’s going to expose himself or someone else will get there first. 

He forcibly drags his attention back to the briefing. There are some more cautious congratulations before—

“Ahsoka, I mean absolutely no disrespect—” Yep, there it is— “but are you _absolutely_ certain Maul is dead?”

Obi-wan looks like he wants to say more, maybe mention Maul’s handy habit of surviving bisection, but he leans back instead and leaves it at that, and Anakin bites back his sudden overwhelming urge to defend his padaw—former padawan—to the Council. Obi-wan _does_ have a point. They still aren’t entirely certain how Maul managed to survive the first time.

“Um.” Ahsoka and Rex exchange an unreadable glance. “Well, I kind of. . . wanted to be certain after Rex shot him. And we. . . have the body with us.”

There’s a silence.

“I see,” Obi-wan says at last. “Well, then. My congratulations to you, Ahsoka.”

“Thank you, Master Kenobi.” Ahsoka says softly. There’s a note of wistfulness to her voice; Rex picks up on it and shoots her a concerned glance.

Then she blinks. Once. Twice. Anakin follows her line of sight and—

“Ah, yes,” Obi-wan says, swiftly tucking his mech arm back in his sleeves. "I'm afraid Grievous's defeat came with a bit of a cost."

"You—" Ahsoka gapes for a moment. "You went after Grievous alone?" She sneaks a glance back at Anakin then looks away quickly when he meets her eyes.

"I suppose you could say we overestimated his power."

"Not _funny_ , Master Kenobi." 

"Agreed." Anakin and Master Windu end up saying in unison, levelling flat stares as Obi-wan. 

"Well, forgive me for trying to lighten the mood a little." Obi-wan mutters with a mock surrendering gesture.

"In any case," Master Windu turns back to Ahsoka and Rex. "This is excellent news. With Maul, Grievous, and Dooku defeated, this may very well mean the collapse of the Separatist Systems for good."

"The war. . . might be over." Rex says quietly.

Mace nods. "That's right, Commander."

"This Council thanks you and your men for the role you played and the tragedies you overcame," Shaak Ti says, and a sorrowful glint in her eyes makes Anakin think she's remembering Fives, "to help us defend the Republic."

Rex doesn't seem to know what to say to that. After a moment, he inclines his head and murmurs a "thank you."

"And. . . " Master Windu turns to Ahsoka and there's a pause. ". . . Advisor Tano, this Council apologizes for our role in your unjust sentencing. We were wrong to doubt you and . . . wrong to cast you out." 

Ahsoka's eyes widen, and Anakin sits there in shock.

"We should have never told you to leave." Mace continues, and there are nods and bowed heads from around the room. Had this been planned all along?

Master Yoda steps off his chair and hobbles forward. "Honored, we would be, young Tano, if you would consider rejoining us. A fine Jedi Knight, you would make."

Ahsoka hastily folds her arms back behind her back and sweeps her eyes across the room. "I. . . " She glances at Anakin, and he tries to hide his confusion and give off an encouraging air instead. Inside, he's just as dumbstruck as she is."Well, I. . . Masters," she says finally, "I would be. . . I would be _honored_ to return."

She. . . she _would_? But just the other day she had seemed so. . . well, distant. Certainly not ready to forgive. 

"Then honored, all of us are," Yoda says with a bit of a chuckle. "Welcome back, Knight Tano."

"Congratulations—"

"—Knight Tano—"

"—Wonderful news—"

"—A credit to the order—"

"—a true Jedi—"

"—will make an excellent Knight—"

"Congratulations to you, also, young Skywalker." Master Mundi says, intense gaze suddenly turning on him. "Your padawan is a credit to you both."

"I, uh. . . thank you, Master Mundi," Anakin says, desperately trying to regain his decorum. He turns to Ahsoka. "I am. . . _so proud_ of you, Ahsoka. Well done."

"Thank you, Master." Ahsoka says, biting down a grin. Rex murmurs a congratulations to her as well, not even bothering to hide his grin, and puts a hand on her shoulder. 

"Welcome back," Obi-wan says, tapping his mechanical fingers, to Ahsoka and. . . and to _Anakin_ , too. "Welcome back."

* * * * *

"I was thrilled to hear of your padawan's reacceptance into the Order," Palpatine says, striding down the halls as Anakin hurries to keep up. "It's been a long time coming, if you ask me."

"Uh, yes." Anakin says. "I don't know of anyone who could deserve the Knighthood more."

"Oh dear, a Knight already? Well, that's a credit to your teachings, I'm sure."

"I, uh, suppose."

Palpatine stops in the middle of the hallway and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Of course it is, Anakin. Don't discredit yourself; you made a fine teacher and even finer Master."

"Thank you." Anakin says rather flatly, jerking away from the hand. He doesn't know why but something about the Chancellor's words has rubbed him the wrong way. "I don't mean to be rude, Chancellor, but why have you called me here? What do you need a Jedi Knight at your Senate session for?"

Sure, he might catch a glimpse of Padme, but he can think of better ways to be spending his afternoon. Most notably catching up with Ahsoka, maybe finally finding out what in the galaxy she was doing on Oba Diah. 

"This isn't just any Senate session, my dear boy. This morning, we received a series of transmissions."

"Transmissions?"

"Yes, transmissions, from numerous Separatist planets and the Alliance itself."

_From the Alliance itself. . ._ "Does this mean—"

"Yes, Anakin." And before Anakin can even process it, they're on the Senate floor itself, Anakin off to the side along with Palpatine's aides and Palpatine front and center, floating towards the middle of the rotunda.

"No doubt all of you have heard by now about the transmissions from the Separatist Alliance and its members." the Chancellor says to the murmurs of the crowd. "This morning, an influx of messages have come pouring in to the Republic offices. Cato Neimoidia. Scipio. Serenno. Skako Minor. Their contents are all, for the most part, the same. Senators, citizens, people of the Republic, the Separatists have declared their surrender. Many planets have already begun asking to rejoin our great Republic."

There are gasps and cheers throughout the crowd. Anakin spots Padme's pod in the mass of them and he swears she's looking straight at him.

"The Clone Wars," Palpatine declares, lifting his arms to a cheering crowd of Senators and aides, "are over!" 

"For good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL YEAH I'M BACK EVERYONE
> 
> happy new year!!

**Author's Note:**

> come yell with me on my tumblr!! I'm @ilonga. Also leave comments telling me if you liked it/what you liked/or just yelling. they give me life :)


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